Hidden In Plain Sight
by Caseyrocksmore
Summary: Stand alone piece. Bug is in a car crash and is sent to the hospital as a John Doe. The others have no idea where he is, and go looking for him. Jordan, Garret and Woody are investigating the case, but none of them see his face until it might be too late.
1. Chapter 1

**Hidden In Plain Sight**

_Disclaimer: This is a stand-alone piece not set in the world of my other ones. Pre-finale, probably set just before. This story was inspired by the song "How Could This Happen to Me" by Simple Plan. You can find the lyrics here in you want: /music/lyric.nsf/How-Could-This-Happen-to-Me-lyrics-Simple-Plan/C4A6ABA7F06A950448256FDD00165559_

_Synopsis: Bug is in a car crash and is sent to the hospital as a John Doe. The others have no idea where he is, and go looking for him. Jordan, Garret and Woody are investigating the case, but neither sees his face until it might be too late._

_Rating: Teen, probably just because I'm paranoid. Mostly because of a few bad words, and some peril; this apparently makes movies rated PG13, so I'm rating his fic to match. :)_

_PS The title used to be "_Death Goes On Again_" but has now been changed because it didn't really fit._

**Chapter One:**

It had been a long day at the Boston Morgue. Mahesh Vijayaraghavensatyanaryanamurthy, known to his coworkers as Bug, was so tired he was literally falling asleep at his desk. The blow-fly larvae he was studying kept being squished accidently by his metal tweezers as he tried to force himself to stay awake and measure them.

"Bug?" Jordan's voice woke him from yet another light sleep. He looked up at her, bleary-eyed.

"Yeah?" he replied quietly, rubbing his hands across his eyes.

"Have you been here all night?" She sounded worried. He nodded.

"I had to finish documenting the length of my larvae." Jordan rolled her eyes at him, obviously annoyed.

"You do know that it's three AM, right?" He looked at his watch.

"Oh. No, I didn't."

"Lily's going to be wondering where you are, Bug. I just came in to get my purse; I left it in my office. Go home. I'll drive you, if you want." Bug shook his head and stood up.

"No, I'll be alright. You go on ahead. I'll leave in a few minutes," he said, scooping up his larvae and putting them back in their container. "I just have to clean up."

"You'd better be outta here in ten minutes. You look like crap," said Jordan. She turned around and walked in the direction of her office.

"Why _thank _you Jordan, you look lovely at his hour, too," he muttered under his breath, cracking his knuckles. It was a bad habit that Lily kept trying to train him out of.

Bug finished cleaning up his experiment and pulled off his rubber gloves with a _snap!_ He threw them in the trash can and grabbed his jacket, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

When he got to his car he could barely keep his eyes open. _Being this tired is not good for my health, _he thought. He unlocked and opened the driver's side door and sat down. He yawned.

He had been up late for the past four nights, working with is larvae. He was proud to report that only one had died (before he started squishing them) and that they all had grown 4 millimetres since the beginning of his experiment.

He fumbled with his keys before putting the right one in the ignition and starting his car, then closed his car door and backed out of his parking space. He knew he was probably too tired to be driving himself, but he couldn't bring himself to ask for help. Not Bug. He was too independent.

The drive to his apartment was uneventful at first. He drove slowly, below the limit, and carefully; stopping at stop signs and being a very safe driver. Even when he was too exhausted to think Bug tried to be a safe driver. After his younger brother's death he promised himself that he would never hurt another human being with a vehicle.

There was one long road called Chelsea Street he had to take to get back to his apartment. It was in a rather unpopulated area of Boston, only a few houses dotted here and there along the road. It was a high-traffic area, though, even at three-thirty in the morning. Early-birds commuting to work, and late-workers like Bug going home were driving along it. It was practically a highway, just with a lower speed limit.

Not far up ahead on the road a navy El Camaro was stalling in the middle of the street. The driver, a young white man with brown hair and green eyes, had swerved when he saw a child run across the street, and his car chose that time to die on him. He was in the middle of the street, front end on his car in one lane and backend in the other. Panicking, he kept trying to start his car. But it was useless, the car he completely given up.

Bug, meanwhile, hadn't seen the stalled driver. He was so tired, his mind so focussed on the road exactly in front of his car he wasn't looking too far ahead.

Finally, he saw the car, perhaps forty feet in front of his own. He slammed on the breaks with both feet and yanked on the wheel, trying to avoid the El Camaro. Bug's car started a wild spin, and just barely hit the back bumped of it. Unfortunately, his car kept going and when he collided with the El Camaro, it sent his car spinning. His car flipped one, twice, three times, before stopping on its roof maybe fifteen feet away. Bug was unconscious by that point.

Another car, containing a white female who was perhaps forty, was on her way to work. She was an accountant, and had to get to work early. Her cell phone rang and she reached for it, picking it up 

and flipping it open. She glanced and the road, dropped her cell phone and slammed on her breaks, but it was too late for her also. Her car ran head-long into Bug's, knocking it into the El Camaro, whose owner was trying desperately to get out of his car. When Bug had hit him the airbags went off, locking him into his seat.

Bug's car was pushed on its side, driver side down. The driver of the El Camaro was flung into his window, cracking his skull. The woman driver was sent flying through her windshield. She had forgotten to do up her seatbelt.

Three more drivers were unable to avoid the three cars already involved in the accident. Two of them died instantaneously, the other survived with only a mild concussion. The cars were in what you could call a pileup, with Bug stranded helplessly at the bottom.

The entire thing had lasted for only about three and a half minutes, but in those three and a half minutes four lives were taken, and two were changed forever.

XXX

A single child, the one who had dashed across the street and accidently caused the pileup, stood by the side of the road, mouth open and video camera on. He had caught the whole thing on tape.

_

* * *

_

So... hate it? Love it? Want me to continue? Please review! I'd love to hear your comments on it so far, and I'm not sure if I should continue writing this... tell me what you think!!


	2. Chapter 2

_I've decided to finish this story, only because if I don't it'll bug me forever. :) Anyway, here it is._

_P.S. I know some of you were wondering why there was a kid on a street in the middle of the night, and this chapter clears that up. _

**Chapter 2:**

Jordan was half aware of her phone ringing. She was so tired she could hardly think. She'd only been sleeping for an hour or so; who would want to call her at four AM?

She rolled onto her stomach and glared at her phone. The caller ID said, "Macy". She sighed. It was probably some emergency at the morgue that the night staff couldn't handle.

"Alright, alright I'm up!" she said, pushing off her comforter and grabbing the phone.

"Cavanaugh."

"_Great, Jordan, you're up!_" She groaned.

"I am _now_!" she almost yelled at him, but resisted. Instead, she just said it strongly. "What is it this time?"

"_Six car pileup on Chelsea Street. They want two MEs, and the night staff is over-booked as it is. Hey, I thought you'd want to come because Woody is the lead detective..._"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm coming. Give me ten minutes and I'll be there," she said, running a hand through her dark curls.

"_That's my girl._"

Jordan hung up and went to get dressed.

XXX

Jordan pulled up in her El Camaro next to the blue morgue van. It was still dark out, but the horizon had a slight goldish tint to it, suggesting that the Sun may come up soon.

"Jordan!" Woody beckoned her over to a body of an older woman lying maybe ten feet from her car. "Garret's over there with a male Caucasian with an obviously cracked skull," he said, gesturing toward the navy El Camaro that would have looked a lot like Jordan's, had it not been crushed from three sides. "This woman must not have been wearing her seatbelt." Jordan bent over the body and picked up her arm.

"From the lack of lividity, I'd put time of death less than an hour ago, forty-five minutes, tops." Woody nodded.

"Its four ten now, and the crash happened closer to three-thirty," said Woody, reading off the notebook he had in his hand. He looked up then glanced past Jordan. "Hey, who are those kids?"

Jordan turned around to look at the three boys that were standing off to the side of the road behind the yellow tape. She noticed that one of them was holding a video camera. "Why don't we go ask them?" she suggested, walking toward the boys. Woody followed.

"Hi," said Jordan, bending down so she was their height. They were maybe ten years old. "My name is Jordan, and this is my friend Woody. What are your names?" The boys looked at each other, looking rather frightened.

"I'm Jeffrey," said the one beside the one holding the video camera. "And this is Dylan and Matthew." He gestured toward the other two boys. He still looked nervous.

"Did any of you see what happened?" asked Woody, also bending down.

"We all did," said Matthew, the one with the video camera. He held it up. "We got most of it on tape." Jordan glanced at Woody, then back at Matthew.

"We're going to need that tape, Matthew, if that's OK?" He nodded and pulled the tape out of the camera, handing it to Jordan. "Want to tell us what happened?"

"It was an accident!" said Matthew, "We're not in trouble, am we?" Jordan looked at Woody.

"Why don't you tell us what happened, from the beginning. Starting with why you three are outside at four o'clock in the morning."

"We dared Dylan to stay all night in that house," said Jeffrey, pointing to a large, run down house not far from the pileup. "It's supposed to be haunted or something. I was going to scare him and Matt was going to video tape it, but he didn't know it." Dylan shifted from foot to foot.

"I got mad when they scared me and grabbed the camera," said Dylan, "Then I ran outside with it. I wanted to destroy the tape so no one would find out I was scared." Tears sprung to his eyes. "I'm so sorry! It was my entire fault!" Jeffrey looked up at Woody.

"He tried to run across the street with the camera," he explained, "And Matt and I didn't stop him. But he didn't look for cars first. One had to slam on its breaks, and it spun, but got stuck in the middle of the road."

"The car wouldn't start again," said Dylan, brushing away his tears. "Then this other car came out of nowhere! That one tried to avoid it, but hit the back bumper," he said, pointing toward the wreckage. "The more cars came, and they just kept crashing. Some managed to stay out of the way, but six ended up in that big pile over there."

Woody was writing all this down. "Thank you." Jordan and he both stood up, and Matthew grabbed Woody's sleeve.

"There are survivors, right?" Woody glanced at Jordan.

"Only one, I'm afraid." The boys looked at each other, panic evident. Jordan ruffled each of their hair.

"It's okay, it wasn't your fault," she said, then followed Woody back to the pileup. She picked a bag out of her kit and put the tape in it, labelling it.

"Well, at least we know what happened," said Woody, motioning toward the bagged tape.

"Yeah. Who was the survivor?"

Woody looked at his notepad again. "Mrs. Jody Foster. Mild concussion, otherwise fine."

Jordan quickly finished her pre-exam on the woman who had gone flying through her windshield, identified as Louise Elliott, then moved on to the next car.

She looked it over then looked at Woody. "How do I get to the body?" she asked. He took a good look at the car. The model was unidentifiable it was so mangled. It was on its side, and the roof was crushed in. It had obviously rolled a few times. The driver side was down, so the body would be close to the pavement. A lot of blood had leaked from the car onto the surrounding pavement, but the body was completely hidden by debris and the airbag.

"Here, I'll give you a boost," said Woody, cupping his hands together. Jordan put her foot in his hands and lifted herself onto the car, the opened the passenger side door without too much difficulty. She saw a dark-skinned hand lying on the passenger seat and picked it up to check lividity. What she found was astonishing.

The hand was still warm, which was not unusual if the person had died within the hour, which it was assumed that he had. There was a cut on the wrist, and when Jordan moved it, blood began to leak from it.

Quickly, she checked the wrist for a pulse and was surprised to find a faint one, barely noticeable, but defidently there. He was still alive.

"Woody!" she yelled and he walked back over to the car.

"Yeah?"

"Get the paramedics! He's still alive!"

Woody ran to get the paramedics, who quickly took Jordan's place. A fire truck was on scene and they hurriedly tried to get the trapped man out of his car, while the MEs stood back near the tape.

"How could anyone survive a wreckage like that?" asked Woody, motioning toward the mangled car. "You can't even tell what kind of car it is!" Jordan shook her head.

"We don't usually see miracles in our line of work, Woods, but they do happen sometimes," she stated, watching the firemen finally pull a limp body from the car. The blood was everywhere; leaking from the poor man's head, arms, torso and legs.

"Poor guy," said Woody. "Do we have any idea who he is?" Garret shrugged.

"I'll check through the car, see if I can find some ID," he said, and walked over to what was left of the car.

By now, the live John Doe was on a stretcher and being loaded onto the ambulance. Jordan walked up to a blood-soaked paramedic.

"What are this guy's chances?" She shrugged.

"He's got a nasty head-wound, some lacerations and at least two broken ribs. We won't know it the head trauma is bad enough to worry about. But I'd give him OK chances, personally. Though he has lost a lot of blood."

Jordan nodded and let the paramedic climb into the ambulance. It drove away, sirens blaring. She stood there for a moment, watching it, until Woody put a hand on her shoulder. She looked up at him.

"It's not often we get to help save a life," she said with a small smile. The sun started to come up, giving the world and orange glow. Woody smiled and wiped some blood from her cheek.

"No, it isn't. It's a good feeling, isn't it?" Jordan nodded.

"Jordan! Back to work!" Garret barked, and Jordan shuffled toward another body.

Just another day as a ME.


	3. Chapter 3

_This is what the necklace looks like: ecx.images-amazon(dot)com/images/I/41Du0obf66L.jpg_

**Chapter 3:**

Jordan wiped the sweat from her brow and finished sewing up Jane Doe #946357218, one of the crash victims. Her car had been pretty badly crushed, and it was hard to tell the model. They couldn't even find her licence plates.

"Jordan!" she heard Nigel yell as he entered Autopsy 1.

Jordan looked up at her tall British friend with a hint of a smile. "Got something for me?"

"An ID on this Jane Doe," he said, offering her a folder. She pulled off her bloody rubber gloves and tossed them in the trashcan casually; then took the folder from his outstretched hand.

She flipped it open and took a look at the first page. It was a single frame Nigel had taken from the video the kids had made. It was the Jane Doe's car from a front view, an easily identifiable green Cadillac, with a licence plate that read, 'Y56 687'. Jane Doe was also visible through the windshield, a look of panic evident of her face as she obviously saw the wreckage and tried to hit the brakes. Jordan flipped to the second page, which had a picture of a drivers licence on it.

"Alison Walker, age twenty-nine. Well, at least we know who she is now." Jordan looked up from the folder. "Anything else?"

Nigel nodded. "Uh, yeah. Have you seen Bug? Lily's worried sick. Apparently he didn't go home last night."

Jordan rolled her eyes. "I told him to go home around three yesterday. I mean, this morning. Did you cheek to see if he fell asleep in the Bullroom?" Nigel sighed.

"He isn't in the Bullroom. And his car wasn't in his spot this morning." Jordan shrugged.

"Did he and Lily have a fight? Maybe he just needs time to cool off."

"Lily didn't say anything about a fight," he said. A thought struck him. "What if Homeland Security's got him?!" Jordan shook her head.

"They already proved he's not a terrorist, Nige. No way are they going to take him in again. Maybe he took a leaf out of my book and needed to get away for a while," suggested Jordan, grabbing a fresh pair of rubber gloves. "Tell Lily not to freak. He'll turn up."

Nigel sighed, but turned and left autopsy one to do as she asked. He was worried about his best friend though; it wasn't like him to just disappear. That was Jordan's MO.

XXX

_Beep, beep, beep, beep._

Man, was that ever annoying! He tried to force his eyes open, but they felt heavy. _I've been sedated,_ he thought. He didn't know how he knew that.

_Beep, beep, beep, beep._

_Am I in a hospital?_ he thought.

Again, he struggled to open his eyes. This time he succeeded. And instantly reclosed them.

The stale, sanitary smell of hospitals, the flash of white and beiges and _very_ bright lights when he opened his eyes told him he was correct. He was in a hospital.

Why?

The last thing he remembered was... nothing. His heart sped up.

_Okay, calm down, relax,_ he told himself silently. He had a headache. He must have hit his head. So he had short-term memory loss, so what? He could deal with that.

_My name is..._ he started thinking, and then stopped. He couldn't remember. _I'll start simpler, work my way up to the hard stuff._

So he didn't know his own name. The hospital would tell him later. He should start trying to remember details of his life until they did. It would probably all come back to him in a rush once he remembered something, anything.

_My eye colour is..._ He couldn't answer that, either. _I was born in..._ Again, nothing. Hell, he couldn't even remember what race he was. Black, white, Asian? He hadn't a clue. He couldn't remember what he looked like. He didn't even know what country he was in!

He tried to think rationally, but who was he kidding? He was starting to panic.

_My name is... _he thought again, thinking hard. _My name is... my name is B..._

A 'b'? Why did a 'b' come to mind? Did his name start with a 'b'?

_My name is B... my name is Buh..._ Okay, 'Buh'-something.

Buh-randon? Buh-radly? Buh-ruce? Buckley? Buzz? Buddy? Butch? The possibilities were endless. But his name started with a 'buh' sound. It was a start.

He heard a noise. The door. A nurse coming to check on him, perhaps? Maybe he could ask him or her what his name was.

He groaned, trying to open his eyes again. Slowly, he did, and saw a perky-looking young nurse with red-blonde hair and bright green eyes changing his IV. She took notice of him and smiled.

"How are you feeling, Sir? Anything I can get you?" He licked his lips and shook his head.

"I feel... like I hit my head," he said quietly, getting used to hearing the sound of his own voice. It was different than he expected, softer, and he had an accent he couldn't place. So he wasn't American, like this girl. He was from somewhere else.

The nurse gave him a sympathetic look. "You were in a car accident," she said. "Do you remember what happened?"

"No," he said, "I don't remember anything. I don't even remember my own name." The nurse put her fingers to her temples and rubbed small circles there, thinking.

"You hit your head pretty hard. You might have amnesia. I'll get the doctor. Be right back, I promise," she said the nurse, who then walked out of the room, leaving him alone again.

His eyes had adjusted to the light of his hospital room, so he could see properly. He lifted a hand and looked at it experimentally. What he could see of his skin was tanned, not dark but not pale. It didn't give him any clues to his nationality. Nor did the bandages bring back any memories. Probably because they happened in a car crash he couldn't remember being in, but obviously he had.

The door opened again and the nurse returned, followed by a nice looking male doctor. He had brown hair and eyes, pale skin and freckles dotting his nose. The doctor smiled at him.

"Good morning," said the doctor, walked over to him. "I'm Doctor Franklin. But you can call me Derek, everyone does."

He held out his hand. Derek shook it.

"So, uh..." He faltered. "I don't know what I should call you. You see, we have yet to know who you are, and since Nurse Daisy says you might have amnesia..."

"I guess for the meantime you should call me John Doe, then," he said, disappointed the hospital didn't know his identity.

"If you feel comfortable with that. So, John, do you have any memories at all? Anything could be useful." 'John' shook his head.

"I think my name might start with a 'b'. I tried really hard to remember, and that's as much as I got." He stopped, thinking. "What about my car? Can't you trace the licence plates? Didn't I have ID on me?" Derek shook his head.

"Your car was totalled. The licence plates were irretrievable, and your drivers licence won't help us, unfortunately." John gave him a questioning look.

"Why not?"

"Daisy, will you please got get Mr. Doe's personal effects?" Nurse Daisy nodded, her blonde-red curls bouncing slightly, then dashed off. Derek turned back to John. "You'll have to see for youself."

Daisy returned moments later, carrying a bag. "This is everything they could recover. We were about to send it over to the ME's office, but it won't hurt to let you look at them first."

She handed John the back, which he opened with shaking fingers. Inside were many objects in separate plastic bags. He pulled out the first thing, a worn leather jacket, covered in blood and ripped in places.

"You were wearing that," said Derek, motioning toward the jacket. "When the crash occurred."

John ran his hands over the leather through the plastic bag, trying to see if he remembered it. He didn't. He placed it beside him and reached into the bag again, pulling out the next thing.

It was a small chip of plastic, the corner of a drivers licence or credit card. "Was this all they recovered?" he asked, closely examining what was left of the card. Derek nodded.

"It was in your pocket. They couldn't find the rest of it, though they did multiple searches of the debris. It's a wonder you survived at all, the car was so wrecked."

John nodded. "I think I can see a letter here," he said, running his finger over it. "It's an 'm'. According to this, my first name starts with 'm'."

"Does it bring back any memories?" asked Daisy quietly. John shook his head.

"Nothing. I could've sworn my name started with a 'b', though. But I could be wrong." Derek nodded.

"This might be an 'a' or an 'o', he said, pointing to the second letter that was half cut off. "I think it's an 'a'. 'M-a'-something."

"Mark? Matthew? Mac? Martin?" suggested Daisy. John shrugged.

"No clue."

"Well I think 'Mark' sounds better than 'John'," said Derek seriously. "Why don't we rename you 'Mark Doe' until we find something better?" John shrugged.

"It's less frightening than John Doe. For some reason that reminds me of a nameless body lying in a crypt somewhere." He shivered. Derek smiled.

"Why don't you go through the rest of your personal effects with Daisy while I go check in with my other patients, and you—" He pointed to Daisy. "—page me if he remembers anything."

Daisy nodded and took a seat in the chair next to 'Mark'. Derek left.

Mark reached into the bag and pulled out object by object; a pair of jeans, a pair of broken glasses that he didn't see the use for because he could see fine, a single blood-soaked running shoe, a pack of breath mints... none of which brought back a single memory.

There were only two things left in the bag, both of which he pulled out together. He lifted the first object up and turning it over in his hands after mindlessly discarding the second on the bed beside him, mind reeling. It was a set of multicoloured baby keys, one of which was bent, but otherwise intact.

Daisy's eyebrows shot up. "You have kids?" she asked, and Mark shrugged.

"I don't remember..." he groaned, closing his eyes.

A baby. A little girl with red-blonde hair, pale skin and bright blue eyes. She was wearing a pink hat and a tiny jacket. This all came in a flash; he could see her face in his mind.

The second object fell to the bed as he ran both thumbs over the keys through the plastic bag, remembering the baby.

"Do you remember something?" asked Daisy when she noticed his strange behaviour. He nodded slowly.

"A baby," he said. He opened his eyes. "A little girl. These are her's." He held up the keys. "But I don't remember her name."

Daisy just wanted him holding the keys, clutching to the first memory since his accident. A baby. A little girl. She shook her head. They needed to find out who this guy was; for the little girl's sake. No little girl should have to go without a father for very long.

After a few minutes, Daisy remembered that there had been one last thing in the bag. "Mark," she said, snapping him out of his zoned-out state, "Why don't you take a look at that last thing?"

Mark put the baby keys back in the bag and gently picked up the last object, which had been discarded on the bed beside him. It was a long, thin, dark-velvet box. The colour of it was unknown to Mark, because it was soaked in what he guessed was his own blood.

He turned in over in his hands, thinking. He couldn't remember the box.

He opened the plastic bag and pulled the box out. Daisy kept her eyes on it, obviously curious. He ran a thumb over the velvet, still soft though caked with the blood.

"Should I open it?" he asked Daisy. She shrugged.

"It does belong to you. And it might help you remember something," she said, a small smile forming on her lips. He nodded, then looked back at the box.

Did this small treasure hold the answer of who he was? Would he, when he opened it, remember everything? He didn't know. So he had to open it.

He slowly opened the box, amazed to find the inside clean. It was lined with velvet also, a light blue colour that reminded him of the baby's eyes. Inside was a necklace.

It was beautiful, for sure, but it didn't bring back any memories. Shaped like a butterfly, the necklace's silver pendant gleamed. Not a drop of blood had gotten inside the box. The wings were each made of two purple stones, perhaps amethysts, and the body and head were silver. The two antennas looped up and attached the pendant to the silver chain.

Mark studied the necklace, but didn't remember buying it, or who he had bought it for.

"You remember anything?" asked Daisy. He shook his head.

"I just want to know who I am," he said quietly in a voice that was barely a whisper, then looked at Nurse Daisy. "Is that too much to ask?"


	4. Chapter 4

_Sorry it took me so long to update this... the plot bunny I had for this one sort of hopped away from me... but I think I've re-caught the bunny, thanks to Amelia Bianca Black for giving me the push in the butt to get this going again! And sorry that it's shorter than my usual stuff... I would have continued, but the rest of what was going to be the end of this chapter is almost chapter-sized itself... anyway, here it is:_

**Chapter 4:**

Garret tossed a bag onto the table in Trace, causing Jordan to jump. She put a hand over her heart and glared at him.

"Are you trying to give me a heart attack?" she asked, then shook her head and looked at the bag. "What's this?"

"The live John Doe from the pileup's belongings," stated Garret, moving beside her so he could take a look with her. "You want the good news or the bad news first?"

"Good news, please," she said, leaning in to take a better look at the contents of the bag before opening the top and peeking in.

"Well. Mr. Doe is doing better, and has had very few complications. And he's woken up." Jordan looked at him and smiled.

"So he's not a John Doe anymore! Good, because trying to find out who he is from just this stuff was going to be a pain in the—"

"He's still a John Doe." Jordan stopped and stared at him, looking confused.

"How...?"

"That's the bad news; he has amnesia. The only thing he could figure out was that his name started with an 'm', so the hospital staff has nicknamed him Mark Doe, because John Doe made him uncomfortable." Jordan groaned.

"He doesn't remember anything?"

"Nothing."

"Well, then, we'd better start going through his belo—"

"Jordan! Dr. Macy! Kate! Bug! Lily!" Nigel stormed into Trace wearing an expression of panic and yelling the names of his coworkers at the top of his lungs.

"What's wrong, Nigel?" said a perplexed Garret, walking over to him.

"Therewasatrainthatderailedandwentintoriverandthereweremorethaneightycasualtiesand—"

"Woah, Nige, slow down! Deep breaths," advised Jordan, abandoning the bag and going to her distraught friend's side.

"There was a train that derailed, went into the river. They say there are more than eighty casualties." He looked pretty freaked out. Garret went into full boss-mode, taking control of the situation.

"Nigel, call for all hands on deck— get Peter, Sidney, all the volunteers you can wrangle and send them to the crash site. Jordan, find Kate. You, she and I are going to be on site first." Jordan nodded and ran off in search of Kate, the bag of Mark Doe's personal effects forgotten. "Tell Lily to prepare for mass causalities, and tell Emmy to get the forms ready." Nigel nodded and rushed out. Garret grabbed a kit and ran off after Jordan. This was not going to be a good night.

XXX

Lily was fretting over her missing boyfriend, and panicking over the arriving distraught family members of those who had died or were assumed dead in the train derailment. At the moment the stricken families took top priority, but in the back of her mind the fact that Bug wasn't there was nagging at her. Where was he? Had he just needed some time, like Jordan suspected? Was he kidnapped by Homeland Security again, or perhaps by someone even worse? Was he lying dying or dead in a ditch somewhere because he had gotten carjacked? Was he—?

"Excuse me, but what kind of question is this: 'Are your loved one's earlobes attached or detached'?" Lily sighed.

"Sorry, we just need all the information we can get, so they can be identified if..." The Asian woman burst into tears, and Lily tried to comfort her. And so it went.

XXX

"_The Boston Morgue's best people are trying to excavate and identify all the victims in this horrendous accident— though some have speculated that the derailment of train 141E was a planned attack because of some wealthy occupants—_" Mark sighed and shook his head. A train derailment just South of where he was? What bad luck! With the morgue— who were supposed to be finding out who he was— so busy with this tragedy, it might take ages for them to discover his identity.

"_Dr. Macy, do you have anything you would like to tell the public?_" Mark's attention went back to the TV.

"_I would like to advice those who might have lost a loved one in this mess to please stay calm, and maybe help us out. If you think your loved one was a victim, please go to the Boston Morgue and bring a photograph and possibly some DNA— a toothbrush or hairbrush will do— to help us identify them to give closure to those who know them. Any and all help would be greatly appreciated at this time. That's all._"

Dr. Macy was an older fellow— late forties, early fifties— with grey hair that was receding a little and bright chocolate coloured eyes that Mark swore he had seen before. Not that a specific memory surfaced, but he had the feeling that he knew him from somewhere.

"_Thank you, Doctor. Now, back to Kimberly Watson with your hourly weather update._" Mark lifted his remote control and turned off the news.

Dr. Macy reminded him of something. He defidently knew him. They mentioned that he was the chief ME at the Boston Morgue. Maybe he had lost a loved one recently and Dr. Macy ad handled the case, or something. Or maybe he was making connections where there was none, and he didn't know this guy.

He hoped he knew him, though, because it might give him a hint to who he was.

"Hello, Mark! How're you feelin', Hun?" Nurse Daisy was standing in his doorway, a happy smile plastered on her face. Mark shrugged.

"Did you hear about the train crash?" he asked her, and she nodded, smile disappearing. One odd thing about Daisy was that she could go from her normal perky self to sullen in a nanosecond. No one changed moods that fast.

"I did. Such a tragedy, it is. As far as I know there weren't any survivors. And I would know, because they'd be here, most likely..." Mark nodded. Made sense.

"How're your stitches?" she asked, her smile back. He rolled his sheet down to his knees and lifted his gown a little to show her the bandage that covered most of his left thigh.

"Feeling better. But I could use some more morphine..." he joked. When they had given him morphine, he had gone a little weird. Apparently (because he couldn't remember) he began to sing out rainbows and unicorns and happy, fluffy puppies. It didn't agree with him.

"Oh, you know I can't authorise that, especially because of how you reacted before." Dasiy put her hands on her hips.

"I was joking." Mark rolled his eyes. No one could ever tell if he was joking or not; it had something to do with his soft, airy voice. And his accent! It made people trust him, and it made people always think he was serious for reasons he hadn't figured out yet.

"Oh, well, why didn't you say so! Here, let me change your bandage..."

Mark sighed and lay back on his pillow, clicked the 'on' button on his remote and once again began to watch the tiny TV in his room as Nurse Daisy changed the bandage that covered his numerous stitches. The news were back on, and again covering the train wreak story, and he watched the background for Dr. Macy, just wanting to see him again. Instead, he saw two female workers— by the looks of it, MEs, because they were standing over a body— arguing about something that he couldn't hear over the female report's voice. He could barely see what they looked like because the camera crew was at a distance; but one was a blonde and one a brunette. They seemed familiar, too.

He closed his eyes and tried to picture them. The three of them, their faces. He could see a fuzzy image, but it was only what he had seen on the TV. And a feeling hardly counted as a memory.

"Daisy, will I ever remember who I am?" Mark turned to look at the nurse, a pleading, desperate look in his eyes.

"I truly believe that you will," she said, and finished his bandage up. "There ya go! I'll come and check on you in an hour, alright?" Mark nodded and went back to his TV watching.

He really wanted to believe her, have some hope that his amnesia would only be temporary. But for some reason, he couldn't look on the Brightside. He couldn't find the Silver Lining. All he could see was a bare hospital room, not filled with friends and family. And no escape from the knowledge that he didn't know who he was.


	5. Chapter 5

_Okay, so in this chapter CSI is mentioned. I don't own it. Durrh._

**Chapter Five:**

Jordan groaned and put her pillow over her head. She couldn't sleep. After working a triple and completely exhausting herself, she couldn't sleep. It was terrible, but she just felt like working. She rolled over and pushed her pillow off her bed, glancing at the clock. It was five AM. Her shift didn't start for four hours.

Sighing, he kicked off her covers and sat up, rubbing her hands over her eyes to get the sleep at bay. She might as well get dressed and go see if they needed her help, anyway. There were so many autopsies to be done she could've worked a quadruple shift and not finished her share.

She got up and took a quick wake-up shower before dressing and grabbing her car keys. Today was going to be another long day.

XXX

When Jordan got to the morgue the first thing she heard was the screaming. It wasn't a human-sounding screaming, either. It sounded strangely unnatural. Jordan shook her head. Maddie was here? At five in the morning?

She went to the break room, only to see Nigel holding the caterwauling infant, trying to hush her, while a frustrated Lily sat at the table her head in her hands.

"What's going on?" asked Jordan casually, as if her being majorly early for her shift was normal. Nigel and Lily both groaned.

"She won't shut up!" said Lily, letting her head fall and hit the table with a _bang!_ while Nigel shrugged. "That sounds awful, but I haven't slept in days, I have eighty distraught families to deal with, Jeffrey is being a pain in the ass and Bug is MIA!" Jordan cocked an eyebrow.

"He still hasn't turned up?" she asked, surprised. Her friends were right; this wasn't like Bug at all. Especially since he had moved in with Lily. Nigel shook his head and Lily lifted her head a little, then let it fall back to the table with another loud _bang!_.

"Okay,_ stop_," said Nigel over Maddie's screaming, glaring at his friend. "You're going you give yourself a blood concussion!" Lily looked up and glared at him.

Woody walked into the break room, yawning. He plugged his ears and glanced at Maddie. "You got yourself a loud one, I see," he said brightly, and Lily rolled her eyes. "Why hasn't Bug made her stop crying yet?"

"He's gone!" yelled Lily over her daughter's screaming, and Woody raised an eyebrow.

"What do you mean 'gone'? Like out, gone?"

"Like gone, gone!" said Nigel. He passed Maddie to Jordan, who looked like she had no idea what to do with the screaming infant. "Like missing for almost two days and no one else has noticed!" Woody stared at him blankly.

"You mean he pulled a 'Jordan'?" Nigel and Jordan nodded.

"Or he's been kidnapped, or he's lying dead in a ditch somewhere, or he's—" Lily started, almost hysterically. Woody stopped her.

"If it makes you feel better, I'll put out an APB on his car," he said. Lily stared at him blankly.

"What?! You're going to have to speak up!"

"I said 'If it makes you feel better, I'll put out an APB on his car'!" yelled Woody, straining his voice to the limits. Lily nodded.

"Thank you!" she said, also yelling.

All of a sudden, Maddie stopped crying and fell quiet and still. All heads turned to stare at Jordan, who made a face. "Uh, Lily, I think your daughter needs a diaper change," said Jordan, and Lily went into mother-mode, grabbing Maddie's diaper bag and laying out a blanket on the table. She took her daughter from Jordan and laid her down, also making a face.

"You stinky, stinky baby," she said, tickling Maddie's stomach. Nigel motioned toward the door, and the other two people in the room nodded and left.

"Why are you here so early?" he asked, addressing both of them. Jordan and Woody glanced at each other.

"Couldn't sleep," they said in unison, and Nigel grinned.

"Together?" Jordan smacked him, and if looks could kill, Nigel would be dead from the one Woody was shooting him.

"I couldn't sleep because there's so much work to do," said Jordan.

"My furnace is making a funny noise," said Woody.

"Uh-huh." Nigel seemed unconvinced, though truthfully there was nothing going on between Jordan and Woody... at the moment.

"I have an autopsy to do," said Jordan, quickly removing herself from the conversation. "See you guys later." She walked off toward the crypt.

Woody stopped being offended by Nigel's comment and went back to his normal, analytical cop self. "How long _exactly_ has Bug been missing?" he asked, pulling out his notebook and flipping to a clean page.

"Jordan told him to leave here on Tuesday morning around three, just before she got called out to that pileup."

"So he's been missing for..." Woody counted in his head. "Just under fifty-one hours." Nigel nodded, and Woody wrote that in his notebook. "He could be anywhere from Pennsylvania to Maine to Canada, if he was driving in one direction. And that's if he didn't just go to Logan and fly somewhere."

"Who says he's pulled a 'Jordan'? Maybe Lily's right and he's just missing. Involuntarily."

Woody shrugged. "We'll find him, Nigel, whether he left voluntarily or not."

XXX

"Hi, Mark," said Daisy, coming into his room and handing him his breakfast tray. Normally breakfast wasn't served until eight, but Mark woke up every morning at five-thirty on the nose when he wasn't sedated, and the staff had just become used to it.

"Bacon, scrambled eggs and toast a la Mindy the hospital cook," she said brightly, motioning toward his tray. He grinned.

"I love bacon." Daisy smiled.

"Is that a memory?" Mark shrugged.

"Just a feeling."

"Well a feelin' is better than nothin'," she pointed out, and Mark noticed for the first time that she had almost a southern twang to her voice. Texan, maybe? He couldn't tell, but it was comforting. Not as comforting as a British accent would be, but hey, what could he do?

He didn't know why, but he was longing to talk to someone with a British accent. Someone he could spill his heart to. Did he know someone like that before he had lost his memory? He hoped so. It was something he could hold onto, so he could want to have his memories back.

"I suppose," he said, then grinned. He picked up a piece of bacon and ate it, still grinning. "I just ate forty-three calories," he said, swallowing, "nine milligrams of cholesterol, one gram of saturated fat, a hundred and eighty five milligrams of sodium, and three-point-three-four grams of fat." He licked his lips. "Yum."

Daisy looked less than pleased. "Isn't all that stuff bad for you?" she asked, perplexed. Mark nodded. "I might never eat bacon again."

"Oh come on, Daisy! You have to let loose once and a while," he took another piece of bacon and bit it in half, "I love bacon, even though if I eat enough of it, it would probably kill me." He put the other half in his mouth. "But it's just so _good_."

"Uh, sure. Listen, I'll be back in a bit. I have to go change another patient's bandages. See you," she said abruptly, leaving him alone with his breakfast. Mark didn't mind. He actually liked being alone from time to time. More room to think.

But he still missed that baby terribly, and the person with the British accent, if he or she even existed.

He ate another piece of bacon and switched on the TV. Some show was on, but he had no idea whether he follow any TV shows. Strangely, he was amused by this one. It was set in Las Vegas, and it was about crime scene investigators.

He especially liked the autopsy scenes. Doc Robbins, their chief medical examiner, was entertaining, and the whole medical aspect of it interested him, too. David, or Super Dave, was another ME, and he always put a smile on Mark's face. Especially during his scenes flirting with Sara, one of the CSIs.

"You know, I always liked that show," said Derek from the doorway, causing Mark to jump. He hadn't heard his doctor open the door, he had been too busy watching Super Dave check the rigor of the body. Mark smiled.

"Me, too," he said, then stopped. "I think."

"So, I hear you like bacon," said Derek with a smile, and Mark grinned at him, nodding. "Have you had any more of these 'feelings'? They could be signs you're getting your memory back.

"I keep wanting to talk to someone with a British accent," said Mark, thinking, "I remembered a baby, a little girl with the most beautiful blue eyes. And I think I may have met Dr. Macy, or someone like him, because I saw him on TV and he reminded me of something I couldn't put my finger on."

"The ME, Dr. Macy?" asked Derek. Mark nodded. "Huh. I know him. He's the one handling your case, I believe." Mark sighed.

"Then I can't know him, or else he'd know who I was." Derek gave him a sympathetic look.

"I'm sorry, Mark." Mark shrugged.

"It's okay. If I remember, I remember. I guess I'll just have to wait." _And wait, and wait, and wait,_ he thought, groaning inwardly, but smiling on the outside. Derek nodded and patted him on the shoulder.

"Yes, we'll just have to see."

"Yeah."


End file.
